As Before I Went Under
by Hella
Summary: Mortality means little to a god. Or does it? After Loki is carelessly snatched back from the brink of death, Tony begins to notice that their old enemy is starting to slip a little.


**As Before (I Went Under)**

**By Hella**

* * *

There were still storm clouds in the sky, even hours after the battle. Thick and dark, they were an ominous blanket pulled over what would have been a brilliant summer sunset. It left the air stifling and charged with something Tony wanted to call anticipation, though his instincts told him it was much worse than that.

Still it wasn't the impending storm that concerned him. What concerned him was the inhumanly strong hands fisted in his shirt, shoving him back against the rooftop access door.

Tony really needed to learn when to keep his mouth shut.

_Especially _when he was right.

"You think you can comprehend my desires?" Loki hissed into Tony's ear, hot breath rushing against the sensitive shell. Fingers dug into his collarbone, flexing like they wanted to rip it out. "You think you understand what drives me? You?"

"I think you're slipping," Tony grunted, shoving hard into Loki's chest. He barely moved, but it gave Tony the few inches he needed to tilt his head up and look Loki straight in the eye. "I think you can't even touch Thor in a fight since we saved your life. I think you spend half your time thrashing Hulk because you know he can take it. And me? Do I even need to remind you of your little—"

"It meant _nothing_." Loki's eyes were glowing with warning. Because they didn't talk about the bungled explosion or the frantic resuscitation. Nobody mentioned the heaving gasp against Tony's mouth, or the shaking hand that had squeezed so hard it nearly broke his wrist. How Thor had wept openly with relief, far too grateful to still have a brother who wanted him dead.

No, talking about saving your enemy's life was just bad form.

Tony smile was sharp, his laugh brittle.

"You had a clear shot at me today. You didn't take it."

It was true; he could still remember the moment he'd crashed on the rooftop, the hard slam of impact reverberating through the suit. His golden faceplate had skittered across the concrete, detached by one good old-fashioned smack from the dull end of a swordstaff. Tony had looked up to see green energy crawl through the sky – looked up to see Loki turn away like he'd never even seen him there, wide open and one small knife away from being out of the game permanently.

The corner of Loki's mouth jerked like he wanted to deny it, but he didn't say a word. Which was almost as damning, really. Tony leaned forward.

"Face it, Loki. You don't even want to fight us anymore."

With a sigh the heavens finally opened in a rush of warm rain as Loki's hands flattened out against his chest, slipping up over his shoulders. The anger drained from his eyes, leaving behind a look Tony knew too damn well, though he'd never seen it in _that _face before.

The rain fell between them for a long time.

Neither of them moved.

"Asgard's warriors would talk of the Halls of Valhalla, of where they would be welcomed as heroes after falling in battle," Loki said finally, barely audible over the rain. He didn't even seem to notice that they were both saturated. "At the moment of my death, I knew that I was not headed to such a place. The hand that reached for me through the darkness was cold, and rotted. I still feel it sometimes, broken nails scrabbling for purchase against the back of my neck—" His voice dried up abruptly, eyes dark and fixed with memory.

Tony swallowed, his mind casting about for something to say, but all he could think of was a clear desert sky and his own blood spilling onto the sand. So he waited for Loki, pressed between the door and unsteady hands. The scent of rain meeting hot concrete rose in the air around them, the white noise of the summer storm drowning out the traffic below. What had almost become another rooftop fight had turned into something strange, something almost intimate.

"I felt the clutch of that hand, and knew there was no power inside me that could challenge it," Loki said hollowly. Then his eyes locked with Tony's. "I was _lost_. Then the air turned warm and there was a hand on my heart, and I returned, all in one great rush. I ached, I bled and there wasn't nearly enough air—and you were staring down at me, still sporting the injuries I'd given you."

The hands on Tony's shoulders squeezed dangerously hard, slick with rain and warm through his shirt. Loki's eyes were brilliant green in the dwindling light.

"So, what, you got visited by the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come and now you want to turn over a new leaf?" Tony asked, shrugging under his hands. "Hey, I'm game. But don't look to me like I have any answers. All I did was get your heart started."

"Yes," Loki said simply. "All you did was pull my soul back down into my body. All you did was breathe life back into it, when it had gone cold and silent. All you _did_…was press palms to my heart until blood rushed through my veins again." Rain dripped off his jawline as Loki leaned down, fingers sliding over wet fabric and skin until they encircled his throat. Thumbs firmly tilted his head up until Tony couldn't escape that gaze even if he tried.

"You're making it out to be more than it is," Tony said, his voice strangely hoarse. He cleared his throat. "Look, it wasn't even my call—"

"I still remember your mouth," Loki murmured, as if Tony hadn't even spoken. "Firm, pushing warm air into me." Fingertips rubbed against the edge of his goatee. "The rasp of it when I opened my mouth under yours and breathed on my own."

Tony didn't know where the hell the conversation was going, but there was a familiar heat curling in the pit of his stomach, and he didn't know what the hell to do about that. What had possessed him to call Loki out on his lacklustre attacks, anyway? Out of a suit, taunting thin air from the rooftop—he should have known it would end badly for him. But damn, he hadn't seen this coming.

Lightning forked across the sky suddenly, the wind picking up harshly around them. The rain lashed them hard. It was almost full dark now, the setting sun completely swallowed by the storm. The crack of thunder that followed was quick and close, deafening Tony for an instant and rumbling through the ground beneath them.

The only thing Tony could still see in the storm was the contrast of Loki's hair clinging to his pale face in wet tendrils. His wet fingers slid along the curve of Tony's jaw almost absently.

"Do near-death experiences always have this effect on you?" Tony asked as Loki began closing the distance between them. For what, Tony wasn't game to find out. It distracted him just enough to stop short of what might have been a kiss.

"I wouldn't know," Loki replied. "I've never died before. Not—like that."

"So what do you want?"

"From you? I want to know if I can still taste my resurrection on your lips."

Tony stared at him. Loki was just a mass of shadows now, with eyes like pinpoints of light. _Holy hell._

Something in his silence must have felt like permission to Loki, because in the next moment a rain-wet mouth pressed against his, hands framing his jaw to hold him in place against the door.

Tony wasn't expecting the warmth of him; the rain had chilled their skin enough that his mouth was a welcoming heat, yielding easily when Tony instinctively leaned into the kiss, allowing him to deepen it.

The rain poured between them as they broke apart, and Tony felt like the storm had climbed into his bones. Loki just stood there, quiet, his hands sliding away from him.

"See, just a kiss," Tony said eventually, his heart thudding hard against his ribs. "There's no magic here."

Loki exhaled softly, the sound almost a laugh. "Magic I have, Stark. What I sought was something quite different."

He couldn't help but ask. "And did you find it?"

Loki pulled back entirely then, stepping away from the door. The rush of air the movement brought with it was startlingly cold. Or maybe Tony just hadn't noticed how much of a shield Loki had been.

"Time will tell," was all he said in reply. Loki turned for the edge of the balcony, green light already gathering beneath his feet. "You should go inside, Stark. I wouldn't want you to catch your death out here."

The light took him before Tony's mind could unravel what that meant, leaving him staring out at the storm-drenched city with a head full of unanswered questions. He supposed one thing was clear enough, though; Loki wasn't done with him just yet.

Time would tell.

Interesting choice of words.

Tony found himself looking forward to finding out what they meant.


End file.
